


I Saw Santa Kissing Caroline

by FuchsiaMae



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas Party, F/M, Fluff, Happy Holidays from Aperture Labs, Period-Typical Sexism, capitalist greed and disregard for human safety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28389018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuchsiaMae/pseuds/FuchsiaMae
Summary: December, 1971. This year wasn’t kind to Aperture, just like the year before. Is there room in the budget for a little [Non-Denominational Winter Holiday] cheer?
Relationships: Caroline/Cave Johnson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	I Saw Santa Kissing Caroline

In Aperture’s windowless, underground facility, it was easy to forget that seasons changed outside. Daylight grew shorter, but the fluorescents in the labs and offices stayed on long into the night, as usual. Temperature in the climate-controlled rooms remained steady. So it took Cave by surprise the day his assistant said, “Accounting wants to know when they can expect the budget for the Christmas party.”

“The what?”

“Sorry, the Non-Denominational Winter Holiday Party.”

“They’re worried about that already?”

“Well it’s that time of year again, isn’t it.”

“Is it?” He frowned. “Thought we just had one of those things.”

“About eleven months ago.”

“Damn.” He took a sip of his midday bourbon. “Do we have to? Waste of time and money, if you ask me.”

“Do you want to tell everyone we can’t afford it? We need to keep spirits up. We’re already shaving down the end-of-year bonuses again, we can at least soften the blow with some eggnog.” Leaning against the edge of his desk, Caroline turned to a fresh page on her notepad. “It really shouldn’t be that bad. We can reuse the deco again, that worked fine last year. Wrap things from the gift shop as party favors for the kids. The cafeteria can take care of the food. Music we’ve got. I think that just leaves Santa.”

“So get us a Santa.”

“That’s the snag, sir. Even if we could pay for it, the agency won’t send them over anymore.”

“What, because one guy caught on fire?”

“They didn’t seem to like that.”

“Damn temperamental actors.” Another sip, more thoughtful. “How ‘bout one of our boys? Ask around, see who’d be up for it.”

“He’d have to work through the party. And he’d probably expect a bonus on his bonus.”

“Not enough to see the smiles on the kids’ faces?” Cave tried lamely. 

“I doubt it.”

“Hm. Test subject?”

“Not after last year.”

He grunted in grudging agreement. Last year’s Santa, whose real name was Len, had gorged himself at the buffet table, drunk half the punch bowl, vomited on a child, and been quickly returned to his relaxation chamber. Only the need for warm bodies to test with kept them from dumping him back on the park bench where they’d found him.

Caroline was quiet. He glanced up in time to see her eyes flick away from him, back down to her notepad. “What are you looking at me for?”

“I wasn’t looking at you.”

“I think I know when you’re looking at me, Caroline, and you were looking at me.”

She shrugged, still looking casually down. “We have the suit. We just need someone in it.”

His eyes narrowed. “No way. No chance in hell.”

“It makes the kids happy. And when the kids are happy, the parents are happy. And when the parents are happy, they don’t try to unionize.”

“C'mon, Caroline.” On anyone but a grown man it would sound like a whine. “How would that look?”

She met his eyes now, with a harder expression than anyone else would dare. “It would look like you care about your people, and we could really use that impression right now.”

“Forget it. Have somebody ask around — hell, get a dog, I don’t care, but I’m not putting on that suit.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“Damn right.” Cave decisively slugged the last of his drink, without acknowledging the look she gave him. And for the moment, it was forgotten.

On the day of the party, Caroline went down to the event hall half an hour before the doors opened, to make sure the finishing touches were in place. There was much less to supervise this year, but she checked in purely out of habit. The event committee — which, after downsizing, was just Dora from HR, a couple of girls from the secretarial pool she could boss around, and two bored-looking men from Maintenance for heavy lifting — stood at attention when she entered. “Don’t mind me,” she said, but saw with satisfaction that they moved faster and chatted less with her in the room. 

Watching them deck the event hall recalled ghosts of parties past. In the old days an Aperture party would fill the huge room to bursting, spilling tipsy, laughing crowds into the hallways outside. Now she wondered if the room would feel empty. Maybe they should use a smaller one next year. 

Despite Dora’s best efforts, the hall looked… shabby. The two-year-old tinsel was slightly ratty, hanging in clumps that couldn’t quite be untangled, and the aluminum trees had lost their shine. Caroline watched with a critical eye while a secretary fluffed the branches. As the girl’s hands came away, she made a face and wiped them on her dress, shedding the foil bristles that had clung to her fingers. Caroline held her face carefully impassive. She’d been so proud ordering those trees —  _ a better investment because they’re reusable, and don’t they look so modern! _ And they did, in 1956. Now the silver forest just looked tacky. 

Tacky, though, was better than lazy. Her nose wrinkled at the buffet table. Glazed ham, stuffed turkey, sculptures of skewered hors d'oeuvres, were conspicuously absent this year. The glistening rainbow of towers and domes that once made a gelatin skyline had lately fallen out of fashion, replaced by a uniform row of chafing dishes from the cafeteria. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could prefer the unshaped slop hiding under those foil lids. Even the finger foods were pathetic — there was nothing more exciting than a tray of sad-looking fruit, and someone couldn’t be bothered to stick cocktail skewers in the cubes of cheese. Someone should be fired, she thought reflexively, and then remembered that someone probably was. Cheese-skewerers didn’t make it into this quarter’s budget. 

Her own traditional contribution, the massive crystal punch bowl full of eggnog at the center of the drinks table, looked like a debutante at a tailgate party amid two-liter pop bottles and cheap booze. She ladeled some into a red plastic cup and closed her eyes as she gulped it down, grateful for the extra splash of rum in it this year. 

Fortified with a drink in her hand — she topped it up and told herself that cost-cutting mattered more than her dignity — she took a lap around the room, watching preparations. Dora and the other secretary were arranging ornaments on garlands that decked the stage, which ran the full length of one wall. The garlands did nothing to make it look less empty. In earlier years, they had a live band here playing carols, but a soundtrack on the PA system took care of music now. She tried to remember that instead of their most recent press conference on this stage. Her boss had stormed off in a fury, leaving her to say “No more questions, please,” over and over into the microphone as security herded the guests out. She knocked back another swallow of eggnog to quell the sickening embarrassment in her stomach. 

Normally there was at least a chair for Santa Claus here. Caroline went over to Dora, who was tidying away an empty decoration box. “What are we doing for Santa this year?”

“Nothing, unfortunately.” Dora’s voice was glum. “Fred Wilkes wanted to do it, but he’s still laid up from the accident.”

“Right, poor Fred,” Caroline nodded, looking appropriately sympathetic and pretending to remember which of the many accidents she might mean.

“And no one else would.” Dora shrugged. “So no Santa this year.”

“That’s a shame.” Caroline’s eyes followed the girl hanging ornaments, who had no sense of visual balance at all. As she reached to hang a large red star in entirely the wrong spot, Caroline made a small, disapproving “ _ hmm _ .”

The secretary, who was young and new enough that Caroline didn’t recognize her, blithely placed the ornament and reached for the next one. Dora, however, looked stricken. “ _ Jill _ ,” she snapped, and the girl looked up. 

Caroline tilted her head. “I don’t think I would put that there. But,” she added, lips pursed in a thin smile, “it’s probably fine.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Dora, and reached for the offending star as Caroline turned. She heard heated whispers behind her as she walked away, still thinly smiling. 

Taking up a position where she could survey the work — and noting with satisfaction the nervous glance Jill gave her — Caroline watched the last of the preparations. Dora was now directing the two girls as they covered the room in sheets and shreds of cotton batting. She mourned the loss of asbestos snow. No matter how much Dora picked at it, the wispy mess couldn’t compare to the sparkling white drifts in her memory. In hindsight she should’ve stockpiled the stuff, but at the time, why? There would always be more. Until there wasn’t.

Luckily she’d learned from that mistake. When all the talk started about lead tinsel being “dangerous” and “an unnecessary risk to children,” she’d snapped up this lot for pennies by the pound. If the FDA had its way, this would be lead’s last Christmas — but not at Aperture, no sir. 

The corners of her mouth let their pretense slip, leaving her lips set in a tight line. She’d heard years of Cave Johnson’s speeches about science  _ serving the public good _ — she’d written lots of them herself — but as far as she could tell, the public was made up of ungrateful cowards too stupid and scared to recognize when something could be great. They’d balked at a little cancer risk and ruined something beautiful, and they would balk again, all over children too stupid to know that foil wasn’t food. They would blame poor manufacturers for their own fears and carelessness, like they always did. 

The thought prodded coals of anger inside her. Fake snow and tinsel were petty little things to be angry about, but dammit, the principle mattered. Aperture could grow tumors in days, and remove them in hours, but did anyone care? Of course not. Lose a few astronauts and the world goes crazy. 

Righteous indignation felt warm and almost comforting. Allowing it and rum to insulate against her pessimistic chill, she followed the well-worn track of thought to the imaginary place where Aperture was brave and right. The morons who ran the world outside wouldn’t keep them down forever. They were the good guys, and the good guys always came out on top. 

That thought broke her fantasy. She couldn’t lie that convincingly, not to herself.  _ Good people don’t end up here _ . 

Caroline’s unfocused eyes settled on Jill, who noticed, ducked her head, and scurried off in undisguised fear. She allowed herself another thin-lipped smile. 

Somehow, the inept committee got the last of the decorations up by 6pm, when the doors opened for the rest of the facility. A jolly guitar twanged over the speakers. “ _ Have a holly jolly [Non-Denominational Winter Holiday] _ ,” Burl Ives began, and Caroline was so used to Aperture’s expurgated version that in her mind the edit was part of the tune. “ _ And as you walk down the street… _ ”

She watched as people began to filter in. Maybe it was her bleak imagination, but the crowd looked different this year. Smaller of course, after all the cutbacks, but… some of the old boys looked older, more balding and gray than she knew them in her head. Others, younger ones like Jill, she didn’t know at all. There weren’t many of those. Aperture didn’t get many resumes these days.

There were, however, plenty of children. They were always invited, as per the company’s family-friendly image. A few trailed close behind their parents, but most were corralled in one corner, with a few toys and a tray of snacks and some drawing paper. The little ones gnawed on sugar cookies and Aperture-brand crayons while the older ones looked bored. 

Caroline sighed. She didn’t so much care about the kids, but not having a Santa hurt her pride. She should’ve worked harder on Mr. Johnson. Appealed to his heroism. Silly costume or not, he loved to save the day. But, to be honest with herself, she was tired. Sometimes goading her boss was… well, she didn’t always have it in her. Not on top of everything else. 

He wasn’t even here yet. Probably still sulking in his office where she’d left him, reluctant to show his face after another year of managing disasters. Normally he was the life of an office party — he’d take the officially-unofficial first plate from the buffet table, get people talking, and after downing a cocktail he’d warm up the dance floor. This year she’d be lucky if he didn’t drink himself to sleep behind his desk. 

She took another long drink of eggnog, slowly this time, and made her way back to the drinks table for a refill. This felt like the beginning of a long night. 

Twenty minutes dragged by as she watched employees mingle. No one talked to her. She preferred it that way, but without Mr. Johnson to watch, the evening was dull. The top of the soundtrack caught her ear again: “ _ Have a holly jolly [Non-Denominational Winter Holiday]... _ ”

And then she witnessed a Non-Denominational Winter Holiday miracle.

“Ho, ho, ho!”

The children looked up from their corner and shrieked, “Santa!”

And there he was, filling the open doorway, padded red suit and big fake beard and a smile so wide it showed underneath. For the first time all day, Caroline’s own smile reached her eyes.

“C’mere, ya anklebiters,” he laughed, and threw his arms wide as the kids mobbed him. He waded through them into the party room, dragging what looked less like a sack and more like an extra-large bag from the Aperture gift shop, the overstuffed plastic misshapen and threatening to burst with merchandise. 

It took Caroline half a heartbeat to snap back into work mode. “ _ Chair _ ,” she hissed at the nearest person — it happened to be Jill again, who by this point wore the desperate smile of of a woman near breaking — and a folding chair appeared in her hands. Her legs and arms moved on autopilot to set it up on the stage as her brain raced. Did Santa Cave have enough presents for everyone? Were they all the same, or at least the same price? The last thing they needed was a fight breaking out over who got the best gift. Or a sobbing child throwing a tantrum. Or a fire. There were matchbooks and lighters in the gift shop, and she absolutely did not trust Santa Cave to realize they weren’t appropriate for children under eight. Hopefully he’d been smart and grabbed a whole shelf of coffee mugs. Everyone loved a good coffee mug. 

No, _she_ would have grabbed a whole shelf of mugs. But Mr. Johnson chose to surprise her, which meant anything could go wrong, and this was why she hated surprises. As she tried to herd the children into something like a line in front of the stage, she mentally berated the _thoughtless, stupid,_ _irresponsible_ — 

Over the excited mob, Cave’s eyes caught hers. They gleamed in a way she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. He boomed at the audience, in a jolly variation of his best crowd-pleasing voice, “You didn’t think ol’ Santa would miss this, did you? Not on your life!” Then he added a “Ho ho ho,” looked at her again, and winked. 

_ Impossible, wonderful man _ . She was too old for the sappy feeling that welled up in her chest. No doubt it would drain away in a second, with all the work she had to do. But for that one second, she was young and stupid and happy again, and Cave Johnson could make any day feel like Christmas. 

Santa was undoubtedly the highlight of the evening. He took photos with each kid on his knee, holding a flawless smile even through the toddlers who wailed, and distributed all the presents, most of which were age-appropriate after all. The ones that weren’t, Caroline rectified with diplomatic swaps — apart from one twelve-year-old who seemed a little too happy with his lighter, but she knew the boy’s father, and surely condescending Dr. Marcus would have no trouble teaching basic fire safety. 

Once that was done, and the younger children went home with the more conscientious parents, Cave didn’t bother changing clothes before hitting the party with full force. He drank. He danced. He told stories, usually at the expense of employees no longer on payroll. Most of them were old stories, but that meant he knew how to tell them, and the fact that all the listeners knew they had to laugh hardly mattered. By the night’s third retelling of the Black Mesa phone prank saga, Santa’s mustache had slipped down his chin to free up his mouth, and he was gesturing wildly enough to slosh the drink in his hand. Caroline swept it deftly away before rum and Coke slopped onto his white cuffs, but he followed, taking another deep swig from the cup as she held it. “ _ Now _ I’ll take a refill, doll.” His empty hand slipped down her back when she turned to go, and he gave her rear a firm squeeze. She denied him the satisfaction of a look over her shoulder, but a blush of not-quite-annoyance crept up her throat as she walked away. He was stupid, pretending she was still a sweet young thing, but sometimes pretending felt nice. 

With another drink in him, Santa Cave had a great plan to liven things up. There were still some older kids around, who hadn’t been impressed by his act — so as an encore, he opened up the biggest present, an Aperture Young Scientist’s Junior Experimentation Kit. By then Caroline was toasted enough on her own eggnog that she loved the idea. They set up beakers of liquids and electrode-tipped wires on the low tables in the children’s corner with the kids gathered around, and for a few minutes, all the adults noticed was the peaceful absence of anyone whining to go home. 

The lull ended with a bright flash and a zapping sound that deafened the room. Foul white smoke belched into the air, and the corner erupted in cheers. That cleared out the rest of the families pretty quickly, but the new junior scientists stared at Santa with bright-eyed admiration as their parents dragged them away. 

After that the party wound slowly but steadily down. In an hour or so, Dora was gently shooing the last few lushes away from the drinks as the two maintenance men — Bob or Ray or Dave or something like that — began hauling empty chafing dishes back to the cafeteria. Caroline was surveying the cleanup, as she always did, when she felt a hand rest on her hip. Without a thought she leaned into Cave beside her. “Thank you for doing this,” she said after a moment.

He shrugged. “Gotta save a buck.” Another moment passed. They watched Jill discover a puddle of vomit beside a trash can. He added, “I was good, right?” 

He didn’t say it like a question, but she knew it was. “You were excellent.”

“Yeah.” She felt him shift away from her. Looking over, she saw him move off to one side of the room, and followed. He sat in a folding chair and pulled off the beard. “That’s enough of this thing. Itches.” He went reflexively to shove it in a pocket, but couldn’t find one on the suit. He opened the coat, which had no pockets inside either, pulled out the pillow stuffed under his shirt, and let it and the beard drop to the floor. Then he slumped back in the chair and sighed, a tired man after a job well done. 

As he relaxed, she turned to watch the cleaning again. Every scrap of decoration would go back in storage exactly the way it came out. If it didn’t, if so much as one bauble broke, she’d know, and replacing it would come out of a paycheck. Next year, once they were back in the black, they’d buy fresh decorations and finally toss this old stuff — but for now, the aluminum trees went back in their boxes, and the ragged garlands were carefully unwound and packed away, just in case. 

“You’re off the clock, y’know,” Cave said behind her. 

She didn’t respond. Her gaze followed Jill and the other secretary — Sharon? — as they matched glass balls with the right size packaging. She saw one of them shrug, and her eyes narrowed. 

“So everyone gets to unwind but you?”

“That’s my job,” she replied absently, still watching the girls. It was hard to tell from across the room, but she just knew they were putting the balls away with the hooks still on. Dora should have told them — 

“Hey.  _ Hey _ .” She glanced back to see him patting his red velvet knee. “C’mere, kid.”

She gave him a look, and turned away again. 

“Aw, c’mon.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I just spent four hours playing Santa. You can indulge me for five minutes.”

She sighed. “I’m too old for this.”

“You’re thirty, shut your damn mouth.”

“Thirty-eight.”

“What’d I just say?”

His tone was too sharp to be completely teasing. She opened her mouth to retort — and then shut it again, suddenly thinking of his fiftieth birthday that summer. He’d gone unusually quiet as soon as the party was over, and stayed that way for days. Sometimes she forgot she wasn’t the only one constantly worried about numbers. 

She sighed and came over to stand by him. Instead of sitting, she hesitated, and then forced a smile. “I don’t want to break your knees.” When he flinched, she hurriedly clarified, “I mean, I never lost  _ last  _ year’s holiday weight, and now — ”

“You’re not fat, you’re not old, now shut up and sit down.” Finally relenting, she sank onto his knee, and he wrapped one arm around her to pull her close. For a long moment his head rested on her shoulder. That seemed to revive his spirits. When he looked back up at her, he was smiling again. “Now, have you been a good girl this year?”

A wry grin pulled at her mouth, and she couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Not if you ask the IRS. Or the BBB. Or the FBI, probably.”

“Screw them. Your boss says you’ve been perfect.”

She held back a crack about him being an unreliable source. “You’d better take his word for it, then.” She was glad to have his smile back. 

“And what do you want for Christmas, little lady?”

“Fifty million dollars.”

“That’s some price tag. What’s a kid like you want with all that cash?”

“Well, fifty million should just about pay back our creditors, last time I checked the books, and if there’s anything left over we could replace the big centrifuge in — ”

“For chrissake, would you quit thinking about work for one second?”

“That’s not what you pay me for.”

“ _ Santa _ doesn’t pay you,” he corrected, and bounced his knee under her. “Santa does presents. So what’ll it be, kid? If I could give you anything in the whole world. A private jet? A sable coat? A ten-foot string of diamonds? Anything.”

“I’ll take all of that. But keep the receipts, so I can get the fifty million dollars back.”

He snorted. “You’re a real piece of work.”

“ _ That’s _ what you pay me for.”

“I guess I can’t argue there.” He lay his head on her shoulder again. “You mark my words, though. One day I’m gonna give you the moon.”

She smiled. “Fine. You want crazy wishes? Make Nixon take back OSHA. How’s that for crazy?”

“It’s a good start.”

“Ooh, what else?” She rested her chin on the top of his head. “Lock up every bastard in the US Senate. Have Wallace Breen shot. Buy NASA. And then you can get me the moon, how does that sound?”

“You got it.” He hugged her close, and for a few long moments, they just held each other. Then he lifted his head to look at her again. “We’re gonna get through this. You know that, right?”

She met his eyes and found no certainty there — just a worried man who wanted reassurance from the smartest person he knew. Caroline was always right. If she said so, everything would work out fine. She closed her eyes, nodded, pressed her lips to his forehead. “Of course.” After all, Christmas was the time for well-meaning lies that made the world feel brighter. 

Across the room, Jill and the other secretary — whose name was Cheryl — had finished boxing the ornaments and were now openly staring at the CEO’s intimate moment. They both jumped when Dora said from behind them, “I  _ think  _ you girls can go now.” 

Without so much as a “Yes ma’am,” the girls fled. Dora, familiar with this scene after nearly a decade of office parties, just shook her head and went back to taping up the boxes. 

After a while, Caroline lifted her head from the embrace. “Hm.”

“Hmm?” Cave said into her neck.

“Just thinking…”   
His head popped up too. “Talk to me.”

“There are always so many kids at these parties. There must be a way we can use that.”

“The kids?”

“Why not?”

“Labor laws. Trust me, I’ve checked.”

“So don’t call it labor. Call it an opportunity for childhood enrichment. A hands-on science education program. It’s not a job if we don’t pay them. Maybe their parents pay us.”

Cave frowned, then began to nod. “That could work. Yeah, that could work…”

“That’s why I said it.”

He grinned and planted a kiss on her cheek. “You are a gem.”

“I do my best, sir.” She returned the kiss on his lips. It lasted just a little longer than either of them expected. 

Then she slid out of his arms, and he stood, stretching hugely and letting out a groan. “Time for me to get outta this thing. And hey, next yeat? Robot Santa.”

“You’re a genius, Mr. Johnson.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun facts you learn while researching an Aperture party:  
> \- The red plastic Solo cup was created in the 70s (couldn’t find an exact year)  
> \- PepsiCo introduced the first two-liter soda bottles in 1970  
> \- Tinsel used to be made from lead foil because it wouldn't tarnish, but the FDA convinced companies to stop selling it in 1971 (thanks silverstreams for this one)  
> \- Starting in the 30s, asbestos snow was recommended as a safe choice over flammable materials like cotton  
> \- The Occupational Safety and Health Act, which created OSHA, was signed into law by Nixon in December 1970


End file.
